Under the Mistletoe
by analine
Summary: Ianto is in a festive mood... Jack/Ianto. One-shot. Fluff.


**Title:** Under the Mistletoe  
**Fandom/Pairings:** Torchwood; Jack/Ianto  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** None.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Genre**: fluff!  
**Word Count:** ~1,495  
**Summary:** Ianto is in a festive mood. ;)

**Notes:** Just a bit of Christmas fluff, really. I really tried to come up with a creative title too, but clearly failed, so... Yeah. ^_~ I hope you enjoy it~ Merry Christmas!

* * *

Ianto has no idea what's come over him.

All of the sudden he's just _in the mood_.

The festive, Christmassy, snowflakes and tinsel and fairy lights and presents and _mistletoe_ kind of mood, to be more precise. The kind of mood he hasn't been in since about age six.

He doesn't have a huge problem with Christmas, or anything, but there's always been a vague sense of disappointment lingering there, a holdover from childhood expectations that hadn't quite measured up, maybe. Not large enough to be worth voicing, usually, but hanging around in the back of his head somewhere all the same.

Which makes this newfound enthusiasm especially nice, really. This tiny bubble of anticipation in his stomach, this feeling that there's a bit of Christmas spirit in him after all, that there's a part of this whole thing he can get behind this year-it warms his chest in a way that he's not used to, makes his body feel a little lighter, a little brighter.

* * *

He's humming, half-singing, really—Christmas tunes that were playing on the radio this morning—as he bustles around the hub with the last of the decorations. His musical ear isn't the best, but he manages okay, especially with such familiar melodies.

It's early, so naturally he's the first one in. He's sent Jack out on an errand, too—picking up a Christmas cake for everyone to share later at the local grocery, but anything to get him out of the hub for a few minutes would have done fine.

It's not that he doesn't enjoy Jack's help with decorating. In fact, he'd realized with a sort of revelation that Jack had a real eye for it when he'd shown up a few days ago to help adorn the tourist office with the requisite holiday fare—lights around the doorway, a small tree in the corner, tinsel and garland around the edge of the desk. _Happy Christmas_ sign draped invitingly across the opposite wall.

Today though, Ianto has a bit of a plan.

A bit of a silly, romantic, festive plan, which he intends to carry out to the best of his ability, and which requires Jack's absence, at least at first. And really, it's not so much of a plan as an excuse to snog Jack senseless before the others arrive; something he could have probably achieved anyway, holiday traditions or not, but still…

His lips quirk up in a smile as he fastens a tiny bow (removable adhesive that wouldn't leave a smudge afterwards—he'd checked) to the edge of Tosh's monitor.

Gwen had helped him decorate the rest of the hub last night—they'd strung up lights, hung large cut-out snowflakes from wherever they could reach, even managed to squeeze in a small, real fir tree. Ianto had cringed a little at the needles, but ultimately, the homey feel that it gave the place where, if they were honest with themselves, qualified as a real home more than anywhere else these days, was more than worth it.

Preparations mostly complete, Ianto busies himself in the kitchen area as he waits for Jack to return.

He's drying Tosh's mug for the third time when his computer _dings_ in the silence, echoing in the emptiness of the hub. He half-jogs over to his monitor, watching Jack's coat swish behind him as he steps onto the lift, still stylish even like this, all grainy and black-and-white.

Ianto practically sprints up the stairs to Jack's office, leaning against the door frame just as Jack calls out from below.

"That's the last time I'm setting foot anywhere near that place this close to Christmas," Jack announces. "It's a complete madhouse!"

"Ah, right—I should have warned you. Thanks, though," Ianto calls down. "And come here."

Ianto can hear Jack divesting himself of several plastic bags, blustering around a little as he goes.

Ianto straightens his tie when he hears Jack start on the stairs, and fixes the space in front of him with a look of determination.

As Jack approaches his office, he gives Ianto a puzzled look. A _why are you standing in the doorway, you never stand in the doorway unless I'm in my office and you want something_ look. Ianto smiles a little.

Then he takes a step forward, raising his eyebrows and pointing up at the mistletoe above Jack's door, bright green leaves and white buds poking out of a brilliant red ribbon.

Understanding practically blossoms on Jack's face.

"You know, Jones, I don't think I would have pegged you for a mistletoe kind of guy, I have to say."

Ianto just smiles, his heart racing a little, as Jack slides his arm around his waist and under his jacket, hands still cold from being outside—Ianto can feel the chill even through two layers of cotton and silk.

"So this means I have to kiss you, is that right?"

Ianto has to fight to keep his voice neutral with Jack breathing down his neck like this, their thighs brushing up against each other, hips slotting into place comfortably.

"Well, I did assume you were familiar with the tradition, yes," Ianto says, as Jack nuzzles a still-cold nose against his ear.

"So just a kiss, is that it?" Jack whispers, his palm against Ianto's cheek now, guiding their lips close, but not quite touching.

"Well…" Ianto says, and it's more an exhalation of the breath he's been holding than a word, really.

And then Jack presses their lips together, and it's like his whole body is pulled into Jack—this magnetic force that never gives up, never repels, only _attracts_, only pulls him in closer, deeper. He's vaguely aware of Jack pressing him back against the door frame with a grunt—a swallowed sound deep in his throat, as Jack flattens against him, parting his lips and driving that talented tongue inside Ianto's mouth.

He's a force to be reckoned with, as always—a challenge that Ianto can never quite manage to back down from. He doesn't exactly fight Jack for control of the kiss; it's more of a give and take, sometimes giving more, sometimes taking almost everything, but it feels _good_—-heart pounding, blood flowing, synapses firing, _good_, and in that moment, Ianto thinks mistletoe may possibly be the greatest holiday invention _ever_.

How he's managed twenty-five years without this is beyond him.

The fact that this realization also extends to the man currently occupying 99.9% of his personal space is not lost on Ianto, and his brain pauses, hitches a little. All the sudden he can feel his face warming, as Jack's arm snakes tighter around his waist, and Jack's fingers clutch at the back of his neck.

He doesn't know what this means, really, what this thing with Jack has ever meant, or what it might come to mean at some undetermined future point, but what he does know is how this _feels_, how Jack has become important, become necessary, integral, and how he's carved out a place in Ianto's heart that no one else will ever occupy.

What Ianto knows is that there's no one else he wants to kiss under the mistletoe, not now, and possibly not ever.

Jack's muscles relax after a moment, and he pulls back a little. He moves his hands to Ianto's neck, thumbs pressed against his jaw line, foreheads touching for a moment before he pulls back and smiles, his eyes bright and warm and disarming. Ianto squirms, just a little, like he always does under Jack's full attention like this.

"It's been a while since I've kissed someone under the mistletoe," Jack says softly, his palm squeezing lightly against the back of Ianto's neck. "I forgot how nice it is."

Ianto rolls his eyes half-heartedly, and when Jack doesn't back off, when he leans in for another kiss, Ianto returns it, a little more enthusiastically than he means to.

After another moment or two though, he straightens and moves to reclaim at least a few of his lost brain cells before the others arrive, reminding Jack that it's nearly 9AM and they have work to do, Christmas eve, or no Christmas eve.

Jack pouts, just a little, and then eyes Ianto curiously when he lifts up on his toes, and detaches the mistletoe from above the door, sliding it into his jacket pocket with a wink.

"If you're good, you just might see this again later."

"And if I'm not?"

"Then I guess you'll never get to see what else I have planned."

The fact that he doesn't actually _have_ anything else planned crosses Ianto's mind for a second, as Jack grins at him, and then enthusiastically strides over to his desk, seemingly intent on tackling the day's paperwork with zeal, but…

Then again, he's not exactly short on inspiration this morning, and he does have the entire day ahead of him.

He's pretty sure he'll be able to come up with something.

—fin— 


End file.
